


Blaster/Bluestreak and Cassettes

by Camfield



Series: RoboPeriod Adventures [5]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: First Period, M/M, Multi, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Universe: G1<br/>Characters: Blaster/Bluestreak<br/>Rating: M<br/>Disclaimer: I don't own it… *le sigh*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaster/Bluestreak and Cassettes

Blaster was hunting.  
  
His cassettes were spread out across the Ark, waiting for Bluestreak to appear, while he’d spruced up their shared room but with each passing orn he was growing more and more impatient with not finding the sniper.  
  
He wasn’t on a mission, which meant he was holed up somewhere on the Ark. Blaster was getting desperate, he NEEDED to find him.  
  
So he hunted.  
  
It probably looked strange to the mecha who saw him. Steeljaw was nose to the ground with Blaster literally right on his tail, his head swung left and right, tilting back and forth, and his glossa was peeking out through parted lips. He was sure his optics were hazed over, because his vision certainly was, but none of that mattered.  
  
Because he had to find Bluestreak and that wonderful, ever so lovely, smell that kept wafting past his nasal sensors whenever the sniper was near. It was driving him crazy!  
  
When one of the twins finally sighted him, Blaster honestly couldn’t tell which in his hurry to get to the Praxian, he was off like a shot. Pushing friends out of the way, even a startled Jazz, as he flew through the corridors before coming to a stop before a nervous Bluestreak.  
  
The first thing he noticed was that they weren’t alone. The frontliner twins had HIS claim backed to the wall and babbling incoherently.  
  
The second thing he noticed was the open and dripping interface panel where black fingers were currently working their way further and further into that precious heat.  
  
Blaster didn’t know he’d growled until the twins turned around with snarls of their own on their faces. Bluestreak sank to the floor, clearly having had been held up by one of them, and covered his flushed face with shaking hands.  
  
“Mine.”  
  
Blaster’s glossa was out and he was panting, each vent drawing in more and more of the scent coming from Bluestreak’s drenched array, even as his hands clenched into fists, ready to fight for his mate.  
  
The twins gave him a flat look, Sideswipe cocking a predatory smirk after a second, before they launched themselves in tandem toward the cassette player.  
  
Normally Blaster wasn’t even a blip on the twin’s threat radar, but in his musk-haze he fought like a mech possessed. The cassettes flew out from nowhere and everywhere to impede the frontliners in any way possible. Blocking their optics, throwing whatever was available, winding under their feet, it was an anything and everything goes brawl and Blaster was in the thick of it.  
  
With each panting vent Blaster twisted and punched, kicked and grappled. What started as the word ‘Mine’ quickly devolved into snarls and bitten metal when one twin was unfortunate enough to get within helmspace.   
  
Bluestreak was watching with a horrified look as his friends literally fought over dominating rights, something that hadn’t happened since Cybertron, but his normally streaming vocalizer was silent. Mouth opening and closing without a peep leaving.  
  
Blaster finally managed to knock Sunstreaker out of the fight with a well placed elbow to the nasal sensor. He hit with enough force to completely dent the metal in, throwing Sunstreaker offline and Sideswipe to the floor with the backlash.   
  
“Mine!”

  
It was a claiming bark and Sideswipe growled before bowing his head and accepting the outcome. Spitting curses at the communications officer, he hauled his brother up and out of the way of Blaster’s feverous attentions.  
  
“B-B-Blaster?”  
  
Blaster’s head snapped back to Bluestreak and his whole demeanor instantly changed. Without the hunt or competition he transformed from dominant warrior to eager turbopuppy. Nearly wiggling over to where Bluestreak stood, his cassettes followed, he rubbed his forehead affectionately against the other’s before scooping him up and dashing to his room.  
  
He was so excited he nearly missed his door, hands trembling as he keyed in the code, and rushed over to the berth to lay Bluestreak down. The clank told him that it was a little less lay and a little more drop, but he instantly petted hands over the sniper’s frame in apology.  
  
“Mine.”  
  
This was the most affectionate version of the word he could use. It was liberally dosed with adoration and tenderness and Bluestreak hesitantly nuzzled his helm against a hand. This was much nicer then up against a wall where everyone could see.  
  
The cassettes were everywhere Blaster wasn’t, tiny glossa and hands/paws/hooves nudging and rubbing and covering him with pets and caresses and attention and Bluestreak found that he didn’t mind being claimed if this was the result.  
  
So he let himself be lain down and gave himself up to the sensations, his hands reciprocating as best they could over the multiple frames that covered his own.  
  
Blaster sat back for a second, admiring his claim running hands over his family, and cooed. He was still wiggling and wagging like an Earth dog as he nudged Bluestreak’s knees apart and huffed, drawing in as much scent as he could and holding it in his system until they blared and he had to x-vent and start over. Shivers ran through Blue’s frame at the heated air rushing over his drenched valve and focused attention. Blaster held off until he was shaking with restraint before he dove forward to press his face into the sopping array, licking and snuffing, hands coming around to grasp black hips and press them tighter to his own face. To get as far as he could into that slick heat and reach every sensor node possible with his glossa before he had to stop.

  
Bluestreak keened, chassis vibrating as Blaster pumped bass through his speakers, and shrieked, body not letting him overload until it had been properly spiked but almost painful arousal charging through him and zapping both him and Blaster from where they were connected between his legs.  
  
His hands fought free of the cassettes and pulled on Blaster’s audio horns, trying to get the tape deck to move and let Bluestreak overload, and oh he wanted to overload. So badly that his whole body shook with excess electricity even as it arched to the rest of the mech pile he was the bottom of.  
  
Blaster resisted, at first. His face was buried in that wonderfully scented valve, conductive gel smeared and dripping from his face as he pressed just that little bit further into bliss. The hands on his audio horns became more insistent and he reluctantly left his new second home to smear the gel over whatever his hands and helm could reach. The smell wafted from the heated metal and he panted into a kiss before pressurizing his cord and pressing it forward.  
  
Bluestreak had been so wired that when the spike finally slid home he bowed off the berth in immediate overload, scattering the cassettes that had been on his body. They threw themselves at each other then, Eject clambering on top of Blue’s face while Rewind took Ramhorn and Steeljaw took Rewind.  
  
The Praxian blindly thrust his own glossa forward, earning a shriek from Eject, as Blaster planted his hands on the flattened doorwings of his partner and gave into sensation. Thrusting hard and quick and Blue couldn’t help but feel his charge sparking between them again.  
  
Eject pressed down against his mouth and keened his own overload before hauling himself off and over to his brothers, the small mecha spent, and Blaster surged down for another kiss.  
  
Bluestreak pulled him closer, legs winding around Blaster’s hips, and rolled up to meet the fierce thrusts. They met with loud clangs and even louder noises until overload claimed them both.  
  
**********************  
  
When Bluestreak onlined, it was to see Blaster gazing at him with the most adoring look he’d ever seen on a mecha’s face.  
  
“Mine?”  
  
It was asked softly, a hand stroking his helm, and Bluestreak for once had to fight to get words to come out of his vocalizer.  
  
“Yours.”  
  
It was all he could say, but from the look on Blaster’s and the cassette’s faces…  
  
It was enough.


End file.
